


it's friday, i'm in love

by Macremae



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Borderline Personality Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, PTSD, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Pride and Prejudice References, Suicidal Thoughts, Tenderness, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 11:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18603346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: Newt hasn't felt rainfall in ten years.





	it's friday, i'm in love

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah, i know, i usually headcanon newt as bipolar BUT my best friend of five years just dumped me and i'm spiraling so have whatever the fuck this is. best listened to along with phoebe bridgers' cover of friday i'm in love. thank u rey for introducing me.

He doesn’t know what he has to be sorry for.

That’s the crazy thing about what happened. He has all this guilt and self loathing but nothing to really project it upon. Logic says it wasn’t actually him. That it was just his body. That the aliens did all the talking and moving and killing and he was genuinely trapped with no way to stop it. If he thinks too much about it he can’t breathe.

Okay. Wait. Start from where you are. 

He’s sitting upright in a hospital bed, thin sheets pulled over him. He’s wearing scrubs and a bracelet and grippy socks, but they don’t do much to keep him warm. The lights overhead are hurting his eyes, but he’s too scared to ask someone to turn them off. His brain is quiet. His brain is quiet.

It’s so fucking weird.

Newt’s borderline; he’s got the diagnosis for “loud brain syndrome”. Day in and day out, even without aliens in his head, there’s always something buzzing or yelling or talking. Not hallucinations, not typically, but just background noise. And now it’s silent for the first time ever.

He chews on his bottom lip, still not used to being able to have his five senses back. It’s an old habit he doesn’t care enough about breaking right now. His chest feels tight with anxiety, but the sound of rain drumming on the Shatterdome roof keeps it down for now. Newt hasn’t heard that sound in a while.

He pokes his tongue into his cheek, then thinks fuck it and throws the covers off. Standing is a little hard, but Newt bites down and makes his way to the door. There’s no one guarding him since yesterday when the scans came back clear, but he still looks around nervously as if someone is going to stop him. No one does.

The hallways are dark and empty due to the hour, and Newt thanks whoever he still believes in that he doesn’t have to pretend to feel safe around people. He gets a little lost trying to find the stairs, but eventually he makes his way up them and pushes open the door to the roof.

The sound is gentle on the plated metal, and Newt is instantly soaked. He takes a few steps out into the downpour to the edge and sits, letting his feet dangle in the air. The risk feels good and natural, like coming back to an old song you loved in high school. The air is warm with springtime, and Newt lets himself stare out unfocused at the frothing ocean.

He hasn’t cried since he-- _the Precursors_ tried to kill Hermann. This is an extremely weird thing, because Newt cries all the time. He cries when he’s happy, or sad, or angry, or really, really tired, but no dice. Nothing. He’s got all the right symptoms: tight chest, aching throat, horrific phantom pain that comes from no injury, but no tears come. Newt used to hate crying; it made him feel weak and pathetic, but now he wouldn’t mind the release. Everything is building up in his chest so much he has to take a deep breath every once in a while to get any oxygen. His body belongs to him again, but it still betrays him.

Newt wonders what Hermann is doing right now. Coding, probably. Definitely not sleeping-- the man is way too obsessed with his work to do that so soon after an attack. Also definitely not thinking about Newt.

Newt is in love with Hermann, but Hermann doesn’t love him back. The very feelings that allowed Newt to break free for a moment and possibly save his life mean absolutely nothing to anyone except himself. 

He first came to terms with this on a Tuesday that was only special because of how many times he listened to Love Me Tender that night and burned himself with cigarettes. Hermann was doing something utterly inane; copying equations from the board into his notebook and checking his work, when Newt looked over and the light from the setting Hong Kong sun caught him just right that his entire face turned golden and soft. He looked like something out of a painting, but so perfectly and utterly Hermann at the same time. Newt looked at him and realized two things: 

One. He loved Hermann more than he had ever loved anyone else before. When Newt was with him he felt safe and special and normal and smart, and full of something he couldn’t quite explain. It was the most wonderful thing he had ever experienced.

Two. Hermann did not feel the same way.

This was confirmed when, after aliens possessed Newt’s brain and made his body leave for Shao, Hermann did absolutely nothing to stop him. There were no questions, no pleas for him to stay, no inklings that something was horribly wrong. Hermann just wished him luck and that was that.

Newt was used to people leaving. He did not enjoy being on the other end, especially since it was the most horrible experience of his life.

The worst part is that he deserves it; he deserves everything. He’s done horrible, awful things and hurt many, many people, and utterly worst of all he’s hurt Hermann. He hurt Hermann. The absolute love of his fucking life. The universe itself couldn’t devise a better punishment.

Newt is a songwriter. He thinks in metaphors. If Hermann were a waiting room he would never see a doctor; he would sit there with his first aid kit and bleed. He’s the stars in Newt’s sky that swallow up the blackness. He’s the gun in Newt’s lips that will blow his brains out. If Newt could have anything right now, anything he wanted, he would bury his face in Hermann’s chest and let himself be hugged until he choked.

It’s a terrifying feeling to know that you would kill yourself to make a person happy, but Newt has lived with that notion every day since that Tuesday. It’s how his brain works. The only other option is to finish what Shao started and jump off this fucking roof.

It sort of does seem like the better option. Newt’s not sure what life is going to be like with the trauma of the Precursors plus the horrifying numbness that follows each scathing emotional wildfire, but it’s not something he wants to face alone. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what’s going to have to happen. Bummer.

He considers the action with frightening clarity and logic, feeling the gentle fall of rain on his skin. It’s nice. The quiet is nice. Honestly, one of the most comforting environments he’s ever contemplated suicide in.

The door behind him swings open, and there’s the sound of three feet on the metal roof.

“If you kill yourself after I just got you back,” says Hermann, “I will follow you into hell despite the fact that I do not believe in it, and beat you with my cane.”

Newt looks up at him through the rain. “I don’t believe in it either. I hear purgatory’s nice and quiet, though.”

“I’m not joking, Newton.”

He blinks. “Me neither.”

Hermann does that funny thing where he presses his lips together and makes them even thinner. “You’re going to catch a cold out here. Come back inside.”

Every fiber of Newt’s body that remembers the past ten years is telling him to do whatever Hermann says, but he resists it. “I just got touch back, Hermann. Let me feel the rain.”

There’s a beat, and then Hermann rolls his eyes masterfully and picks his way across the roof to sit down next to him. He lays his cane down and stares at Newt openly. Newt shrinks under his gaze; he knows exactly what it means. He stares back anyway.

Hermann’s hair is wet and messy. His eyelashes have raindrops on them. The rain is soaking through his wool sweater and making a funny smell in the air, mixing with the scent of cleanliness and salt. He’s still so world-shatteringly beautiful, even after all these years.

“I know that you want to kiss me,” Hermann says. Newt’s still too deep in the trauma-zone to be upset at this, so he nods.

“Yeah. I really do.”

“Then why don’t you? You never had a problem with doing impulsive things before.”

Newt huffs out something not quite close to a laugh. “That was before… I dunno. The doc is calling it ‘mind rape’, but that doesn’t quite seem to hit the nail squarely, y’know?”

“You think if you kiss me, I’ll hurt you,” he says.

“No. I think if I kiss you, I’ll want to do it again.”

Hermann frowns. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yeah,” says Newt, shrugging. “It’s generally considered rude to kiss someone who doesn’t love you, Hermann.”

Surprise flits across Hermann’s face. “Oh. I… didn’t know you thought that.”

Newt makes a face he doesn’t mean. “I don’t think it, Hermann, it’s basic fucking decency--”

“No, no,” he interrupts, “not that. I mean, you think that I don’t love you.”

“Why would you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why _would_ you?” Newt insists. “I’m me. I’m this. I’m every awful thing a person could be wrapped up in a dented little package. You’d have to be a fucking idiot to fall in love with me.”

Hermann smirks. “You’ve called me worse.”

“Hermann,” he says, “you don’t love me. It’s just Drift bleed through. My feelings are becoming yours, at least temporarily, and they’re making you think you want something you really don’t.”

“Don’t you dare try and tell me what I do and don’t want,” Hermann snaps. “If you think I am not perfectly aware of every thought and desire that comes through my own head, then you don’t know me at all. I organize. It’s what I do. And one of the largest collections of feelings I have is about you, Newton.”

Newt blinks twice as rain falls into his eyes. “I didn’t understand any of that.”

Hermann presses his lips together again. “What I’m saying is, I love you all on my own. No ghost Drift, no pity, nothing. And, I know this moment is not exactly romantic considering what you were just thinking of doing, but I would very much like to kiss you now.”

Something gets lodged in Newt’s throat, and he has to swallow hard to keep it down. “Oh.”

A small smile crosses Hermann’s face. “May I?” he says.

Newt nods wordlessly, and Hermann leans in, giving him plenty of time to pull away. Instead, Newt moves his head forward and lets his lips brush Hermann’s the tiniest bit. He gasps a little at the shock it creates in him, but Hermann just moves closer and presses their lips together more firmly. It’s wet from the rain, and Hermann tastes like dandelion tea, and his lips feel much nicer than they appear they should. Newt’s eyes flutter shut unconsciously.

After a moment, Hermann draws back just enough to let their foreheads touch. Newt keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to open them and see the expression on his face. His curiosity gets the better of him, though, and he does anyway.

Hermann is staring at him again, but this time there is no ambiguity in his expression. There’s just love enough to fill the ocean below them, and tender want. “Oh,” Newt says for the second time.

He leans back in again, and they move their lips against each other like two galaxies caught in each others’ gravity. Newt isn’t cold anymore; he’s warm and buzzing with an energy he hasn’t felt in years. This feels like something secret, but at the same time he wants to stand up and scream for the entire city to hear. 

“You love me,” he says softly. Hermann smiles.

“I know it wasn’t you who said it, but you really are the one who’s usually a step behind, darling.”

He kisses Hermann’s nose. “Call me that again.”

“Darling. Love. Dearest heart.”

“Favorite person.”

“Newton.” Hermann takes his hand and squeezes it. “My Newton.”

His Newton. Newton Geiszler. Loved. 

Imagine that.


End file.
